


a harem of dragons

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy!Jon, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Sort Of, Targlings (ASoIaF), a jon harem fic, stay-at-home-Jon, the joys of having little girls, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Prime Minister Daenerys Targaryen takes a break to check in on her husband and three darling girls, only to find that they have given Jon a completely new look.  One that is not entirely bad on him either.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 61
Kudos: 380





	a harem of dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone one-shot that's in the same vein as the _Adventures of Daddy Jon_ series. It is purely coincidental that we all chose triplets with the same names, lol. Jonerys writers think alike!
> 
> Enjoy the fluff :D
> 
> ETA: I forgot I saw somewhere that you can check your ‘brand’ as a fic writer by looking at your top three tags when you filter your work on AO3. I did and they were: “modern AU”, “fluff”, and “Targlings.” I know what I like, lol. So here is a fic with all three!
> 
> Also, Kit seems to like wearing makeup. Jon Snow in show might be wary but book!Jon would be all over that eyeliner.

There was only so much Dany could retain in her mind before it just started to seep out of her ears into absolutely nothing. She felt that she had reached that point when it came to the waste management system overhaul of the still poorly named Flea Bottom neighborhood of King’s Landing. She rubbed her eyes, her contacts squishing up against her eyelids—she would very much prefer to wear her glasses, but Tyrion said during her last campaign they made her too _studious_ and the vast majority of men didn’t like being reminded that there could be a woman smarter than them, especially one in politics.

 _Ugh_ , she thought briefly at the memory. She absolutely could not reconcile some of the things she’d had to hear and to adopt in order to become Prime Minister. At least she managed to oust Robert Baratheon, who was a good-for-nothing macho man whose biggest claim during his tenure was to legalize sex work in the formerly illegal brothels. At least the women working there could earn a decent wage and had more protections, although she suspected that was _not_ the rationale for Bobby B’s decisions.

She sighed harder, glancing surreptitiously at her watch. The day had been going incredibly slow, this meeting interminably so. She closed her folder, the heavy leather thudding and breaking off the speech her Chief of Staff Lord Tyrion Lannister had been engaging in. “I think we should break for the day, table this discussion,” she said, folding her hands atop her folder. She ignored Tyrion’s frown, glancing to Ser Davos Seaworth, her Deputy Chief of Staff, who actually held greater sway in her graces than Tyrion did. “What do you think Ser Davos?”

Davos smirked behind his hand, which he always wore in a glove, to hide his half-fingers, courtesy of a boating accident when he was a lad. “Aye, sounds like a good idea. We will pick up tomorrow.”

“Fantastic, I’ll be in my office.”

She gathered her things, patting Davos on the shoulder as she passed, murmuring her thanks. He only nodded, so as not to gain too much of Tyrion’s attention, as her primary adviser grabbed hold of his stack of papers, hurrying after her. “Madame Prime Minister, if I may…”

“Not right now Tyrion, I need to check messages.”

His eyeroll was not unnoticed. “Very well. Remember, we have the state dinner tonight…”

“I remember, I’ll be ready on time.”

“It’s not you I am worried about Madame Prime Minister, but your husband.” Tyrion absolutely couldn’t stand her husband. He had attempted to coax him into politics, years ago, to absolutely no avail. Dany found it entertaining Tyrion even bothered to try, he had clearly wasted plenty of his clout and witticisms. She waved her hand, dismissing him, moving from the Small Council room where they held most of their meetings to the corridor leading to her office. “Tell him this time that all black will not suffice, he is not going to a funeral!”

 _I’ll try_ , was on the tip of her tongue, but Dany saved it. Her husband wore what he wanted, usually whatever her stylist set out for him, so he didn’t clash with her outfits. It also was all black. _”My color”,_ he always said, when he didn’t need to wear his military dress. Since it was a state dinner celebrating the Seven Kingdoms, with all the regional premiers attending, the entirety of Parliament, noble lords and ladies, and other foreign government heads, it wasn’t a venue for his dress uniform.

Her heels clicked on the ornate stone flooring, moving from the older historic part of the old Tower of the Hand to the newer installation which served as the Prime Minister’s offices. She smiled warmly at the pool outside her office doors, the personal assistants who were responsible for the seamless running of the office. The door to the office adjacent to hers popped open, her private secretary and all around right-hand man—woman rather—stepping out as if summoned by magic.

Gods without Missandei, she would be nowhere, Dany thought, going into her office. “Have there been any messages from my husband, Missandei?” The mention of him by Tyrion had her curious, she hadn’t heard a peep from him all day. It wasn’t unusual, she just wondered what he’d been up to since she kissed him goodbye that morning, rushing out the door for an early phone call with the Triarch of Volantis.

Her PA glanced at her portfolio, frowning at one of the pink slips of paper with ‘While You Were Out’ stamped at the top, a circular white sticker in the corner as the code that it was from ‘White Wolf’, office code for ‘husband.’ “He called earlier, said don’t worry he will be ready for the event, he even will wash his hair.”

She rolled her eyes. Jon’s hatred of the galas they needed to attend amused her, but ultimately, they were an unfortunate part of the job. “Well that’s gracious of him. Anything else?”

“He also said he had an important date and not to bother calling. His exact words were ah...” Missandei glanced at the paper, brow furrowing. _“There is a kidnapping plot at play, I will not struggle.”_ She looked concerned. “Should I let Ser Brienne and Ser Barristan know?”

That was sweet of her to offer, but Jon knew the true code words for when there was an emergency. She snorted. “No, it isn’t code. It’s truth.” She tapped her pen over her lips, smirking. The next thing on her agenda was a budget meeting, but it really did not need to happen _exactly_ on schedule...

 _That decides it then._ She did not bother sitting down behind the old historic desk, slamming the folder she’d briefly flicked open shut. She grabbed her suit jacket, which she hadn’t been wearing, and slipped her arms into it. “Hold my calls Missy. I’ll be back.”

“But Lord Tyrion...”

“Can stuff it. I’ll be back shortly, just going upstairs.”

Dany ignored the sudden flurry of her protective security detail, her longtime shadow Grey slipping into lock step behind her. She wended her way through the corridors and up the stairs from the offices of the Prime Minister to the residential area of Maegor’s Holdfast. The apartments used to belong to the King of the Seven Kingdoms and family, but now served as the private residence for the Prime Minister. It was still nothing compared to their preferred home, her family’s estate on Dragonstone Island.

Once inside, she lost the security detail, happily kicking off her shoes and slipping her jacket off. Inside the doors of the Holdfast, she could become Dany, not Prime Minister Daenerys Targareyn of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. She had half a mind to remove her bra, but she reminded herself it wasn’t _quite_ the end of the day.

Their large apartments were quiet, which caused a twinge of worry in her heart. Quiet was never the normal. Curious, she snuck down the hall to investigate, releasing a relieved sigh at the stream of giggles breaking through the din, the closer she got to the massive room on one side of the floor, already spying the sunlight streaming through the huge arched windows, and slicing into the darkened corridor through the cracked door. The giggles grew louder, the closer she approached, and she paused, leaning carefully on the doorframe, peeking through the open sliver of the door to take in the sight before her.

 _Pink._ So much pink. Also ruffles, lace, flowers...and three little dragons prancing about the wolf, who sat dutifully with his harem, all of whom were engaged in various attempts of torture. It was quite a hodge podge of old-fashioned nursery furniture and large plastic kitchen, toolsets, and playhouses, the series of double doors pushed open to the terrace, which housed the castle playset, swing set, and scattered balls, bats, and other sports equipment.

She stifled her smile, and her laugh, into the palm of her hand, staring at the bouncing balls of pink and shiny satin and tulle, waving around makeup brushes, nail polish, and if she was not mistaken, a pair of her favorite red Jimmy Choos in the air, their weapons of choice that afternoon. The archery sets and swords were discarded to the side, probably from an earlier game.

“Put these on!”

“I think my feet are too big.” It didn’t matter, the heels shoved on with a little grunt from the silver pixie.

One of the others had lipstick in her hand, poking it on his mouth. The third wielded the nail polish like a paint brush, smearing neon pink paint over his fingernails, but mostly getting it on his fingertips instead.

To her horror the couture Dolce and Gabbana dress she had planned to wear that evening was pulled over his knees, stopping at his waist, where his Winterfell Wolves T-shirt bunched up. _Oh Gods, Ellaria is going to kill me if it gets ripped or stretched_ , she briefly thought, before frowning at whether he actually looked good in it. There were ribbons making their way through several braids in his hair and a sapphire tiara sat askew on his head. She really hoped it wasn’t one of the ones from the safe in their closet.

 _Oh girls,_ she thought, trying very, very hard not to laugh, but instead to be upset over her fancy gowns and expensive shoes scattered on the floor. Except she couldn’t be. There was absolutely no way in any of the seven hells she could be angry at her makeup, clothes, shoes, and probably the heirloom jewelry now being draped around his neck. She sighed, leaning back to watch the chaos, grinning.

What have you done to the big bad wolf, my little dragons?

~/~/~/~

“Daddy would you like some more tea?”

“I would love some, thank you,” Jon said, dutifully accepting the flowered teacup in one hand, careful not to smudge his new manicure on the side of the cup. He blew on his nails, holding them out for his daughter’s perusal. “Do you think we should put the sparkles on them?”

Lyanna frowned, taking his hand into hers. She dabbed some more neon pink onto his thumb, which was painted purple. “Naw, I like it like this.” She capped the polish, taking another bottle and shaking it, like she was a professional manicurist. She held it up for his approval. “Black?”

“It’s always been my color,” he answered truthfully, trying to sip his tea, but Alysanne had other plans. He felt his face turned harshly, her little hand pinching his chin, and her scowl clearly indicating he’d done something wrong. He frowned. “Is it my lipstick?”

“It’s smeared!” She wagged her finger at him. “You messed it up!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Daddy, I fix it.” She took his teacup, setting it down and instead handed him a brush, which he assumed meant he had to add to her makeup too. It was quite garish; bright pink cheeks, her eyes shaded blue, and she’d used red lipstick, which had gotten onto her teeth. “Here, give me more.”

Jon looked at the brush, assuming he had to dab some more of the powder on her face. He wasn’t sure Dany was going to like what they’d done to her makeup, but it wasn’t his idea. The girls had their play makeup, but they’d wanted some more and had raided her bathroom. He flicked the brush over her cheeks, smearing some more blush. “You look bee-yoooo-tiful,” he exaggerated, grinning.

“Hold still!” The third one who was standing atop a chair behind him yanked a brush so hard through his curls he felt like he was about to topple backwards out of the pink plastic chair he’d been forced into earlier. The dress that had bound his knees together kept him upright. He rolled his eyes up, the eyeshadow itching around his lids. Also the scratched cornea he probably also had from the mascara wand Alysanne had jammed into his left eye. “I almost got it!”

He winced, but Rhaella grunted, yanking hard and probably ripped out a good hunk of his hair. “I think he needs more,” Lyanna said, finishing with his nails. She got up and went over to the chest they’d tugged out to the center of the room, rifling around in the old period costumes, unearthing a chain with a three-headed dragon on it. “Here!”

Rhaella clipped some of his hair back, reaching for a mirror and held it up. “Do you like it Daddy?”

He took a look at his reflection, trying not to laugh, and nodded solemnly. Purple and blue eyeshadow, pink blush, red lipstick, black mascara smeared around his eyes, and his hair was pulled in all directions with various ribbons, clips, and braids. “I think it looks fantastic.”

“I can’t do the braids like Mummy,” Rhallea pouted.

“No one can do the braids like Mummy,” he assured her, patting her little hand. He turned his face, pursing his lips again. “You could use some lipstick, c’mere!”

She squealed as he grabbed for her, smacking a kiss to her cheek and leaving behind a red smear. “Daddy no! You ruin it!”

“Stop moving!” Alysanne shouted, who was trying to put some more makeup on him. She gave up and crawled off the table she’d been sitting on, going to the chest and pulled out a gold and red dress, pulling it on over her pink tulle princess outfit she’d already been wearing. “Look at me!”

“I wanna’ wear the big shoes,” Lyanna exclaimed.

Jon glanced at the red shoes they’d shoved his feet into, his toes cramping in them. “I think you could use these,” he suggested.

“No Daddy,” Rhaella said, patting his arm assuredly. “Those are yours.”

They giggled, all three of them prancing about in their mother’s fancy gowns and clothes they’d tugged from her closet. He got to his feet as best he could in the high heels, wincing as his ankle almost gave out under him. Lyanna waved something in the air. “Put this on Daddy!”

They helped him remove the dress, which he’d already told them wouldn’t fit because their mother was a petite tiny thing and he was definitely not. Well, not really. He draped the gown over the couch, hoping that it wasn’t too wrinkled. It had been sitting out in the closet, he wondered if she’d been planning on wearing it. “What do you want me to wear now?” he asked, tottering over in the heels to study the clothes they were presenting him.

“This one!” all three shouted at once.

Jon laughed, but accepted the red and black skirt, stepping into it and little Rhaella helping pull it up. It buttoned up and he spun around. “How do I look?” He struck a pose, hands on hips, lips pursed, and head thrown back.

“Pretty!” all three squealed.

He laughed, taking off the tiara and kneeling to place it on Lyanna’s head. She was the only one of the triplets with dark hair and sapphires suited her. He looked around for the other jewelry they’d been playing with. He had on the dragon chain, slung over his neck and shoulder. “You all need tiaras, you’re all princesses.”

“So are you Daddy, you’re also a princess,” Alysanne said, putting another tiara on his head. She had on a heavy red and silver necklace with a dragon hanging on it, almost breaking her neck. He took it and put it over his head, lifting the weight from her. She grinned. “Perfect!”

“I want that one,” Rhaella exclaimed, grabbing for one of the blue tulle skirts in the chest, but Lyanna had taken it. This caused a fight, which Jon only solved by claiming he would wear it and put it on over the red and black one he already wore. He felt one of the clips digging into his scalp, and reached to tug it out, when Alysanne came racing to him.

He took one look at the wig she held up, laughing, and sat back down, allowing her to put it on him while they all finished dress up. “Now what?” he asked, once Lyanna placed a couple jewel stickers on his beard.

Rhaella was the ringleader, the eldest of the three by ten minutes. She was bossy and the loudest by far. “Now we have our party, like you and Mummy.”

“Ah.” They’d wanted to dress him up as a princess for their tea party, which he’d agreed to, mostly so they would eat their lunch, which had scattered on the table with the makeup, jewelry, and other dress up paraphernalia. They also demanded real tea, but he’d compromised with iced decaf tea, since the last time they’d tried to drink real tea—sneaking from their mother’s cup one morning—Lyanna had burned her mouth and took ages to calm them all down. When one felt pain, the other two screamed like they were also in pain.

They probably were, all his girls were connected. They shared one womb for nine months, even outside of it for the last six years, one was never without the others. They all had their separate personalities though. Rhaella the leader, Alysanne the joker and prankster, and Lyanna his quiet little one, who was the tiniest at birth and had always needed a bit extra care.

He felt her come up beside him and he tugged her into his lap, allowing her to place some more stickers in his beard, the top of her tiara tickling under his chin. He picked up her apple slice, handing it to her, and she nibbled on it briefly, while her sisters sat around the table, picking at the rest of their lunch while they had their tea party. “We want to come,” Rhaella announced, a moment later.

“To the party,” Alysanne continued.

“Tonight,” Lyanna finished.

He smiled, glancing at each one in turn. “You don’t want to go to the party tonight. It will be _boring._ This is more fun.”

“We want to dress up.”

“It’s not that kind of dress up.” It was a joke. They’d be in the papers tomorrow, Dany’s dress choice more important than the decisions and the policies she would be working to get in place.

He leaned over to kiss Alysanne’s forehead, wiping idly at the smear of lipstick on her forehead when he pulled back. She reached over and he lowered his head, letting her clip some fake earrings to his earlobes. “Better,” she said, patting his face.

Rhaella frowned, a perfect miniature of her mother. She might have been an identical twin with Alysanne, both silver curls and violet eyes. Lyanna’s dark hair and violet eyes had her standing out. Except they all shared the same face. Their mother’s. “Where is Mummy?”

“Working.”

“Boo,” Lyanna said.

He tickled her ribs, causing her to giggle. “Don’t go booing your mother, she’s doing really good work. She’s very important. She’s making the country a better place.”

“Will she read us a story after the party tonight?” Alysanne wondered.

“Yes. Even if you’re asleep, we’ll wake you up.” He knew it wouldn’t be good for their schedule, but whenever they were going to be out incredibly late, he always made sure they knew when they came home. It reassured them.

This seemed to pacify at least Alysanne and Rhaella, but Lyanna frowned. “She didn’t last night,” she pouted.

“She had a call with the Sealord of Braavos, it ran very late.” Dany had already apologized that morning for missing their bedtime stories. He knew it pained her greatly, to miss out on these things with her children.

Lyanna pursed her lips, nose wrinkling. “Hmm,” she mumbled, still not satisfied.

It didn’t matter, Rhaella decided they were done with their tea party, getting up and grabbing hold of one of the swords. “Let’s play Conqueror! I’m Aegon!”

“No _I WANT TO BE AEGON!_ ” Alysanne shrieked.

“You can _both_ be Aegon!” It didn’t matter, they were now fighting with their swords, shouting over each other and running around in their tulle skirts, crowns bouncing atop their silver heads, trying to one-up the other, swatting plastic swords around.

Lyanna hopped off his lap and grabbed hold of her plastic archery set, with the air-powered Styrofoam suction-tip arrows. “I’m gonna’ save Daddy!”

“Yeah, he’s captured, Daddy go hide in the tower!”

He did as he was asked, kicking off the red high heels, much to the girls’ displeasure. “I’m still wearing the skirt,” he told them. And the jewelry. And the tiara. And all the makeup. He blew on his nails again, studying them. They weren’t half bad. He climbed up into the tower, peeking out of the little window. “Okay, now what?”

“Now we save you!”

“Who has me?” As a writer, he was often preoccupied with their plotting, when they decided to tell stories. They needed to flesh it out, he told them. Couldn’t just be making up stuff on the fly you know.

“Um,” Lyanna said, shrugging. “The Queen in the North.”

“I’ll save you!” Rhaella exclaimed.

Alysanne nodded. “Yes, from that frosty bitch.”

He sputtered, glad he didn’t have his teacup in his hand, he’d have spilled it. “Excuse me!?” he exclaimed, jumping up to glare at her over top the castle wall. She shyly looked up, knowing she’d done wrong. “What did you just say? Where did you hear that word?”

“Auntie Arya.”

No doubt in reference to Sansa, who they called the Queen in the North, since she behaved like she was one and not the hereditary Lady of Winterfell, afforded a spot in the House of Lords as a result. _Ugh_ , he thought. He’d need to talk to his sister about that. “Well don’t repeat it,” he advised, knowing it was a weak punishment.

They kept playing, he wasn’t sure how long. They saved him from the mean Queen in the North, a Free Folk invasion, a bear, wild dragons, and a lion. He eventually called an end to it when Alysanne—in her enthusiasm—wacked Rhaella with her sword and hit her in the eye, prompting a major tantrum and crying fest. From them both. Lyanna had long finished playing and was sitting quietly with her stuffed animals, feeding them leftover food from the party.

“Alright, time to cleanup, come on now,” he said, judging Rhaella’s eye would be fine. They’d go get an ice pack just in case. He pointed to the table. “Start putting all that makeup away and get Mummy’s shoes. We need to put them back.”

“I wanna’ wear them,” Lyanna said.

“Well pick a pair, just be careful.”

The door pushed open, before he could get to it and he laughed, seeing his wife emerge in the doorway. She looked tired; her silver braided bun having fallen a bit on her head, the lines and bags around her eyes a bit more pronounced, but her smile took up her entire face. “Hey! Look who it is!”

“Mummy!” all three screamed at once.

Dany laughed, falling to her knees as the girls attacked her, Rhaella forgetting her eye, Alysanne forgetting the makeup on her face, and Lyanna forgetting the shoes she’d been wearing, each one babbling a mile a minute as they tried to tell her what they’d been doing, how excited they were she was there, and did she want to play dress-up with them too?

Jon reached to remove his fake earrings and some of the jewelry around his neck, leaning to briefly to kiss her cheek. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, frowning briefly. “Thought you had budget meetings?”

“They can keep. These girls can’t.” She narrowed her eyes on him but kept grinning. “You look quite…beautiful.”

“Ah…princess playing, you know.”

“I sure do. Is that my Dolce and Gabbana gown for this evening?”

“Um…”

She laughed, high and bubbly, the sound filling him with warmth. “You’ll have to answer to Ellaria if it’s messed up.” She reached to pinch his cheek. “And I just love your eyeshadow combination.”

“You should try it,” he deadpanned.

“Nice wig too.”

He touched the platinum braided wig they’d tossed on his head, laughing. “Yeah, I look like you.”

“You wish,” she teased, picking up Lyanna, almost falling over from the heft of her. “Oof! You girls are getting too big! Stop growing up, huh?”

Rhaella was solemn, nodding. “We’ll try Mummy.”

“We were playing dress up so we can go to a party like you and Daddy one day,” Alysanne explained, as Dany led them from the playroom out onto the terrace.

“Oh? Well one day.”

Jon sighed, wiping his thumb over his eyelid, smearing more of the makeup. His face was beginning to itch under the layers of it. He left the girls with their mother, who they really needed to see—and clearly, she needed to see them, with this surprise—and set about cleaning up the table from the chaotic lunch/tea party combination. As much as he wanted the girls to clean up too, he swept up Dany’s gowns, shoes, and makeup, along with the jewelry, and returned it to her bathroom and her side of the closet.

He got a shower, like he promised her he would, and scrubbed off the makeup, he left on the eyeliner though, because he thought he looked kind of cool with it and put on a pair of loose sweats and t-shirt, until he had to put on his fancy suit for later. He emerged from the bathroom, to find Dany hanging up her gown, touching the intricate black and red embroidery. “Sorry, didn’t realize they were going to go that far with the dress,” he teased.

“I did mean to tell you that you looked quite fetching in your skirt and tiara,” she replied, turning on her foot and going to stand in front of him, her fingers curling over top of his towel. She glanced at her watch, wiggling her brows. “They just fell asleep in a pile on the floor.” She murmured over his lips: “Whatever will we do in the next fifteen minutes?”

“Fifteen minutes? Big quick, eh?” He tracked his fingers up her spine, smirking. “I can think of a couple things though.”

Dany grinned, pulling him in for a kiss. “Make it quick Jon Snow.”

“Aye, Madame Prime Minister.”

They were about to move to the bedroom, when he heard a soft sound coming from somewhere int eh closet. He paused, pulling back, frowning. Dany heard it too. Kind of a whimper. She turned, pushing back the dresses behind her, and laughed. “Oh! Ghost!”

Their snow-white Samoyed was hiding behind the dresses, refusing to come out. “Ghost, come on, be a man,” he ordered. He laughed, the poor put-upon canine shuffling out, pink bows clipped to the fur near his ears and a pink tutu around his stomach. He shook his head, sighing. “Oh Ghost. When did they do this to you?”

Ghost ducked his head, sighing, and turned, skulking out the closet. Dany just laughed. “He doesn’t seem very happy about it.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s just a skirt, it’s no big deal.”

~/~/~/~

Dany’s phone went off at four in the morning, like always, the shrill alarm jerking her awake. She pushed Jon’s arm off of her rolling to turn it off, and to check the messages she’d missed while she was sleeping. Tyrion didn’t sleep; she suspected he hung upside down like a bat when he needed to get a couple of minutes rest. He had already sent her a text, with a link to a blog post, most assuredly something about the gala the previous night.

She shifted, moving to her elbow, and pushed on her glasses, blinking at the bright screen, frowning at Tyrion’s text: _Check your husband’s entire wardrobe before you leave the house next time._

Unsure what that meant, Dany opened the link and laughed at the post, which she supposed was meant to be an insult to her husband. “What’s so funny?” Jon mumbled from beside her.

Dany handed him the phone, while she climbed out of bed to get a shower and maybe a yoga session before she had to get the girls their breakfast, like she did every morning. “Oh, you know. You.”

“What’d I do now?” He looked at the phone, brow furrowed. He shook his head. “I don’t understand why this is a problem.”

“Oh you know, men can’t wear makeup.”

“Then they aren’t real men,” Jon said, throwing the phone aside. The blog post had criticized her husband—her handsome, manly, war-hero husband—for wearing eyeliner at the gala and apparently for having pink nail polish on three fingers of his right hand. He yawned, checking the clock, wiggling his brows. “Hey, we might have some time…”

Dany was about to suggest that he hurry into the shower with her, but it was too late. Their door burst open, three little girls parading in wearing a Winterfell Wolves football jersey, a pink nightgown with a sparkling unicorn over it, and in Lyanna’s case a matching shirt and pants combo with purple elephants on it. “Mummy I had a bad dream,” she announced.

Rhaella climbed into Jon’s lap, the Winterfell Wolves shirt flapping about her like a tent. “Me too.”

“And me too,” Alysanne said. She yawned, curling into Jon’s side. “Read to us.”

Jon smiled over at her, shrugging. “Raincheck?”

Dany rolled her eyes, staying against the bathroom door and watching as the girls shifted and moved so they were draped around her daddy. It took only a minute, and soon all four of them were asleep. Even Ghost wandered in, freed from his pink costume from the day before, and hopped onto the foot of the bed. She shook her head, thinking she could respond seriously to Tyrion’s complaints, but ended up taking her phone and fired off a text.

 _Just say that Jon was stuck with his harem all day and didn’t have time to change. Then tell them real men wear makeup._ She turned the phone to silent, putting it back on the nightstand and crawled in the bed to join her husband and his little harem.

**fin.**


End file.
